


I'll Use You as a Focal Point

by paradisecity



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Asexuality Spectrum, Boys In Love, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Light Dom/sub, M/M, light painplay, mention of csa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 02:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11545215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradisecity/pseuds/paradisecity
Summary: Even when Jughead's losing the plot, the story he's telling is still about Archie. It always will be.Or, sex as a vehicle for a little relationship history and a lot of feels.





	I'll Use You as a Focal Point

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I've only made it through a few episodes because this show is bonkers, y'all. BONKERS. But I'm a sucker for angsty BFFs who haven't figured out they should be in love. 
> 
> Regarding Jughead's orientation here: It's kind of vague, but I imagine him falling somewhere between demi and sex-positive ace. If I wrote anything that causes a record scratch, please let me know.

When Jug is in the mood for it, he _loves_ giving Archie head. 

He often finds sex distracting and overwhelming; he probably always will. But when he's in the right headspace and he can focus, just be where he is, it's a rush like he's never found anywhere else. 

It helps that Archie loves sex, unabashedly and without hesitation. His body was built for the visceral power of two people colliding. He relishes in the base truths and physical indignities sex brings to light, like every messy and inconvenient moment is simply proof of a job well done. He absorbs Jughead’s anxieties and uncertainties and keeps him in grounded in a way no one else ever has. 

Not that there have been many others. 

Jug suckles lightly on the head of Archie's cock, his thumb rubbing an unpredictable rhythm in the sensitive place just beneath the ridge. Archie twists his hips restlessly and the sweat on his chest gleams in the bright afternoon light filtering through the window. Jughead runs the tips of his fingers slowly up Archie's stiff length to settle him, and his gasp is a broken intake of breath. Jug huffs a gentle chuckle around him. Archie whines. The walls are thin, and their neighbors will hear them, and neither one of them cares. 

It's this challenge and answer, the call and response that Jug likes best. There's so much about the two of them that just fits, because they've been forming their broken edges and empty spaces around one another since they were kids. 

But there's a lot that still doesn't. Archie is bright and open. Even after all the trauma of high school and the friction with his father throughout college, he's still trusting, still believes the best in people. Therapy has helped temper his impulsivity and guilt, has taught him the right consequences to take responsibility for. He's older, and maybe a little wiser, but for Jughead part of Archie will always be fixed at seventeen: warm and golden like a high fall day, beautiful, familiar, and achingly unattainable. 

Jughead doesn't think he'll ever grow tired of the pleasant frisson of surprise he feels when he catches sight of Archie waiting for him at the airport or sliding past him in the morning to get to the coffeemaker: _he's mine, this is us, still_. And yet he knows he'll always be the shadow to Archie's shine. It's something Archie appreciates, being tempered, being balanced. It helps that people don't cut themselves on Jughead’s sharpness anymore; Archie's seen to it that he doesn't need to protect himself with a blade so finely honed. 

Archie's affection never wanes. They've gotten skilled at riding out rough water and on the rare occasion when Jughead still tries to push, Archie doesn't budge. His hand on the small of Jughead’s back says _I know what you need_ , the slide of his fingers between Jug’s own says _You're not alone_ , and the gentle pressure of his hand on the nape of Jug’s neck says _Stay right here with me_. 

It's because of all this that Jughead makes the effort for sex when he could easily do without. He's taken care to learn what Archie likes, what Archie loves, what Archie hesitates to ask for. He's learned how to take Archie apart and put him back together again, how to teach him things he didn't know he wanted to learn, how to make him _fly_.

It's easy, in part because Archie's submissive streak is about the least surprising thing in the world. 

They've been in full swing for over an hour now and Archie's cock is swollen and hot, so rigid in Jughead's hand. The syncopated rhythm Jughead's been working has been winding Archie higher and higher; he's so sensitive when he's this aroused. Jughead watches him closely, shifts the pressure of his thumb just a little bit harder, the suction of his mouth just a little bit tighter. He feels Archie's testicles pull up unexpectedly, and Archie jackknifes off the bed to reach out for him. Jughead's not ready for Archie to come yet, didn't think he was this close. He squeezes his hand around the thickness of Archie's cock, a little bit of assistance and a very clear warning. "No," he says. "Stay down, Archie."

Archie whines high in his throat, his breath coming fast and shallow. Despite Jughead's hold, Archie's hips keep moving restlessly. "Hey," Jughead says, "take a breath for me. A deep one."

"I can't," Archie says. "Not when you're -- Jug --"

"It's okay," Jughead says. "It's okay. I've got you." He eases up Archie's body and comes to rest on his side, pressed up close against the heat of Archie's skin. He rests his free hand on Archie's chest, a calm and grounding presence. "I'm right here."

He's not sure how Archie got so far ahead of him, but it happens sometimes. It's both a help and a hindrance that Jughead approaches sex like a task to be completed or a goal to be achieved. He doesn't get swept up in the whirlwind of touch and sensation the way Archie does. He's never hit that place of open, blanked-out receptivity Archie keeps trying to describe to no avail. Jughead has to work to stay focused, has to make an effort to string together a coherent narrative out of disconnected fragments and phrases.

It was hard, early on, when Archie could tell Jughead was wandering off book and neither of them had the experience or confidence to talk about it effectively. Archie was still struggling with his orientation then, questioning whether his interest in Jughead was fallout from his relationship with Jennifer or a desire to hold on to something stable and familiar as his distance from Fred grew. Jughead didn't know how to tell Archie he wasn't the only one worried, or that he wasn't sure how to navigate a relationship with a highly sexual partner when his own libido was capricious at best. There were fights, and a break-up. They didn't settle into one another until Jughead found the words to explain that even when he's losing the plot, the story he's telling is still about Archie. 

Jughead's story will always be about Archie.

It's his distance from the maelstrom that makes Jughead a skilled lover. He can usually read Archie's body from a place of remove and the talents he's built over time are formidable. Archie understands now that even when Jughead's attention wanders, it doesn't go far. Sex is more than than what two people do to one another, it's more than just verbs. It can be the declaration of nouns and the embellishment of adjectives, the careful crafting of paragraphs and analogies, the placement of codas that lead to denouements. 

Still, sometimes theres so much to choose from that the plot proves elusive.

"Fuck, Jug," Archie says, his breath warm and still quick in the curve of Jughead's neck. "How do you do this to me?"

Jughead gives Archie's cock one final squeeze, then tips his chin up for a kiss, slow and deep. "Sorry," he says against Archie's lips. "I let you get ahead of me there."

"Don't _apologize_." Archie's hand slots into the slight indent of Jughead's waist and kneads at his bare skin. His cock is impossibly hot where it lies in the hollow of Jughead's hip. "I feel amazing."

"You're going to feel even better in a minute."

Archie's chuckle is low and gravelly. "Promises, promises." 

Jughead pulls Archie's mouth back to his, a slow tangle of lips and shared breath. He's hard, and he knows Archie can feel it, but he doesn't think he wants to come today. This is what he wants instead: to bring Archie pleasure, to share desire-drunk kisses in the afternoon sun, to feel so much love and overwhelming fondness he's not sure he can contain it all. 

He remembers how surprised Archie was at his predilection for kissing. It's always been Jughead's favorite kind of sex, close up and intimate without the affront of genitals his low arousal can't always tolerate. But he loves kissing, _loves_ it. When he and Archie first started dating they spent hours making out in Archie's truck, trading sloppy kisses like the teenagers they were trying so earnestly not to be. Archie would grow so hard he hurt and he'd furtively jerk himself off while Jughead tried not to pay attention to what was happening down below. 

When he started to acclimate to sex and grew braver, when Archie would let him experiment without his own guilt getting in the way, they'd disappear into the storeroom of the coffee shop Jughead worked at in college, or one of the music department's practice rooms. It was there Jughead learned that he didn't like being on his knees, but that he loved a hand running through his hair. He learned that Archie liked feeling overpowered, that he was unrepentant about hickies, and that he understood an erection wasn't a mandate to orgasm, whether it was Jughead's or his own. 

Archie's still more than generous with his kisses, even now. He'll stop Jughead in the aisle at the grocery store, cup Jug's face in his big hands, and kiss him with care and intent like Jughead's done something to deserve it. He'll pull Jughead onto his lap when they're supposed to be watching Jeopardy and kiss him until Jug loses track and stops mumbling answers against Archie's mouth. And he always -- always -- kisses Jughead hello and goodbye like he means it. 

Archie's starting to push up against him now, his hips finding their familiar rhythm. He moves his hand from Jug's waist to card through his hair, like he heard what Jug was thinking. Jughead melts against him and Archie does it again, because he knows what Jug likes best. "I fucking love you," he breathes, his lips smearing an inelegant kiss against Jughead's temple. 

Jughead shivers hard. "Let me," he says, breaking away and pushing Archie flat on his back. "Let me take care of you."

Archie shakes his head and reaches for Jughead's wrist, guiding his hand down into the space between them. "Here. Like this."

"No," Jughead says, because he hasn't been edging Archie all afternoon just to finish him off with a simple handjob. "Trust me."

He kisses his way down Archie's chest, swirling his tongue in the grooves and valleys between his ridiculous abs. Archie's stomach contracts when Jughead blows coolly over his wet skin, bringing the muscles into even sharper relief. 

"You're gonna kill me, Jug."

"Never." Jughead looks up at Archie from beneath the sheaf of hair that's fallen over his eyes. Archie's back riding the edge and Jughead knows now he can't take much more. This is the place where Jughead starts chasing Archie's orgasm like it's his own, like he needs to come more than he needs to breathe. "Watch me," he says. "Don't take your eyes off me. Do that and I'll make you feel so good."

He scores his nails lightly down Archie's stomach and around his hips, then kneads with heavy pressure against the solid mass of Archie's thighs. Archie's eyes stay locked on Jug's and his next exhale is shaky. Archie's still uncomfortable with how much he enjoys a brief foray into pain and Jughead silently reassures him with a gentle kiss to the center of his chest that he won't take it too far. 

Still, Jughead knows he can push him just a little bit farther. He slides his mouth down over Archie's cock, the skin stretched so taut and flushed so deeply. He slides his tongue in a serpentine curve over the vein on the underside while he fits his hands into the cups of Archie's hips. As Jughead bears down with his hands, he pulls up on Archie's cock with slow, hard suction. Archie reaches over his head and twists his hands in the slats of their headboard, pushing up against the weight of Jughead's palms. He moans, eyes shut tight as he focuses on the sensation. 

Jughead pulls off Archie's cock with an obscene slurp that makes Archie shiver. "Eyes on me," Jughead orders. "I won't tell you again."

Archie nods and swallows hard. Jughead holds his gaze for a long moment, a warning, then fits his mouth around the head of Archie's cock. He gently scuffs his teeth over the ridge, just the barest scrape. Archie whines. Jughead pauses, his expression a challenge, but Archie's stay open and steady. Jughead repeats the movement, pushing down again into the cradle of Archie's hips. Archie's face goes hazy, strained. 

And this, here, is why Jug loves giving Archie head. It's not the power or the control or the pain; those things are just the vectors. It's giving Archie something no one else ever has because Archie's never trusted anyone enough to ask. It's proving to Archie that Jughead isn't scared, that he's a lover worth having, that he can take Archie places Archie didn't think he could go. It's understanding and respecting the parameters Archie's put in place, knowing there are things Archie only lets himself ask for when he can have more safety and space than penetration requires. 

Space isn't the same thing as distance, and this brings them closer than penetration ever will. 

Jughead exerts more pressure on Archie's hips, now leveraging his own body weight to do so. He takes Archie as deep as he can, straining down until the head of his cock brushes the back of his throat. He pulls up slowly, more hard suction to match the pressure on Archie's hips. When he drops his mouth back down again, he deliberately sets the edge of his teeth around the base of Archie's dick. Archie lets out a heavy huff of breath and Jughead holds still, halting for a long moment to let Archie really feel it and decide. 

His eyes don't waver from Jughead's, and he nods. 

Jughead hums his approval, then grazes the blunt edge of his teeth along Archie's length with the scantest pressure he can muster. Archie's coming before Jughead's even halfway up, with a guttural shout Jug knows the neighbors can't help but hear. 

He sucks in counterpoint to the pulses of Archie's cock as he eases his weight off Archie's hips. He swallows as quickly as Archie floods his mouth, taking care not to grimace at the taste because Archie's been good -- so good. 

When Archie shifts away from him Jughead lets his cock go, following where it lies spit-bright against his stomach. He kisses the heated skin around it, the salt of the sweat on Archie's skin muted on his tongue.

"Come here," Archie says blurrily, and Jug meets him at the head of the bed and gathers Archie in his arms. There are fine tremors in his hands where they tangle in Jughead's hair. "Fuck, Jug, that was--"

"I know," Jughead says. "You were great, Archie. So good." He lightly sweeps his thumb over Archie's hip. "You hurt at all?"

"Like I can feel anything right now," Archie says, just a hint of wryness underlying the buzz in his tone. 

"We'll check you later, then."

There's a glass of water on the nightstand. The ice has all melted and there's a puddle of condensation because Jughead forgot to put down a coaster. Archie will want it in a minute, and then he'll drowsily soak in Jug's touch until the high starts to fade. Later there will be pizza, maybe burgers, and they'll argue about who put what on their Netflix queue and how it got so out of hand. 

For now, though, there's just Archie, and Jughead, and the cadence of their shared breath in the silence.

\------

"Come on Jug," Archie says, jingling his keys impatiently in the doorway. "Waffles. With whipped cream and peaches. Or maybe blueberries. Breakfast waits for no man!"

"I'm coming!" Jughead calls, digging in the coat closet. "And anyway, waffles are just pancakes with syrup traps. Delusions of grandeur. Upwardly mobile."

"That makes…no sense," Archie says. 

"Yeah, well," Jughead replies, wrestling his pea coat off a hanger, "I haven't had my coffee yet."

"You could, if you'd hurry up."

"Fine." Jughead joins him on the landing outside their apartment door while Archie locks up behind him. "Fine. Let's go handle this waffle emergency."

They meet their neighbors, Emily and Clarke, halfway down the stairs. Emily stops in front of them, grinning as she gives Jughead the eyebrow. 

"Have fun yesterday, boys?"

Archie blushes and looks away, while Clarke awkwardly shifts the bag of groceries in his hands. After three years of being married to Emily, Jughead's surprised at how easily embarrassed he still is. It's not like Emily's ever had more than a casual relationship with propriety. 

He gives her his best in turn, an insouciant shrug and a half-cocked smirk. "Maybe."

"Sounded like it."

"Em," Clarke says.

She laughs, and Jughead grins, and she and Clarke slip past them up the stairs. "You're a god among men, Jones!" she calls. 

Archie pulls Jughead down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Jughead holds the door open for him and links their arms together when they hit the sidewalk. He pulls Archie in close and says, "Next time I'll make you come twice." 

Archie's step stutters, and Jughead doesn't even try to hide his smirk.


End file.
